


Taste Your Lips

by zanzibar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bad Decision Jeans, Body Shots, M/M, Tequila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibar/pseuds/zanzibar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need you to take off your shirt,” Dylan bites his lip and looks up at Zach through his eyelashes.  </p><p>In which it is a Saturday night in Ann Arbor and there are drinking games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> _Inspiration_
>
>> [Jobbie](https://www.instagram.com/p/BHIXbsRgo_d/)
>> 
>> A photo posted by Zach Werenski (@zachwerenski) on Jun 26, 2016 at 1:14pm PDT
> 
> Title bastardized from Little Big Town's Girl Crush 

They’re playing some bastardized version of beer pong and truth or dare in the basement of the house on Dewey. Dylan played an afternoon game and has tomorrow off and he’s riding a wave of pre-gaming and party drinking that means he’s drunk enough that he isn’t entirely sure of the rules anymore but when he misses on his next turn everyone shouts about body shots.

Dylan looks around the table and sees some people that he knows by face but not by name and a bunch of people he doesn’t know at all. His mind flashes unwittingly to Ken Holland and his agent and the scary PR lady who wears spiky high heels and knows how many charity things they’ve all done off the top of her head and the social media training the league made them all go through as rookies. He imagines a conversation with the Red Wings that features blurry Instagram pictures of him doing body shots.

“It doesn’t have to be someone at the table,” the girl to his left says, “you can pick,” he thinks about picking her. She’s wearing jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt and is standing barefoot in the basement of a house that is occupied by 5 hockey players. She seems nice.

"Where's Zach," is what ends up coming out of his mouth and before it’s even registered someone’s shouting up the stairs.

Upstairs Niko hoots and someone turns the music up a little higher. 

There’s a shot glass of tequila and a wedge of lime on the table and despite the situation Dylan’s laughing a little by the time Zach presses through the crowd to stand next to him. 

“You shouted?” Zach tosses an arm around Dylan’s shoulder and Dylan sags against him a little.

“I need you to take off your shirt,” Dylan bites his lip and looks up at Zach through his eyelashes. Zach’s face is red, probably a combination of beer, exertion and a little bit of embarrassment. But Dylan’s committed now and when he flashes a crooked grin Zach shrugs and reaches over his head to yank his shirt off. His shoulders flexing in a way that Dylan is not thinking about right now, but is absolutely filing away to reflect fondly on later.

Barefoot girl hands him a glass shaker of salt that is absolutely stolen from somewhere on campus with a wink. Dylan turns to face Zach and trips, unsteady on his feet. His stomach churns a little and he glances up at Zach’s open face one more time. He shakes the salt shaker once and raises an eyebrow, trusting Zach to get the unspoken message. He smiles when Zach flashes back a grin and wraps a warm hand around his hip to steady him. Emboldened, Dylan sprinkles salt on the skin just below Zach's right nipple, getting distracted when some slides into the hollow of his chest, Dylan wants to put his mouth there too, and Zach’s collarbones and also possibly the light dusting of hair that trails into his jeans. Spoiled for choice he can't decide where he'd most like to lick. Which spot on Zach's body most begs for his mouth. 

Someone says something that Dylan doesn’t catch and Zach laughs, low and easy and it snaps Dylan out of his thoughts. If he looks around he can pick out most of the team scattered amongst the party-goers, in the back K-Lo bangs a fist on the wall and someone hollers “Get it Big Z.” Zach grins, pecs flexing. He’s got a shot glass in one hand and a wedge of lime in the other and he’s basically everything not hockey-related Dylan’s ever wanted. For a minute he thinks about pressing Zach’s shirt back on him and disappearing for the rest of the night. Selfishly he doesn’t want to share, he’s the one who gets to see Zach like this, not anyone else. 

Zach smiles uncomfortably and Dylan presses a quick kiss against Zach's shoulder. They have too hard a time keeping their hands off each other to be a secret but they’re not always this public with their affections either. Zach squeezes his hip and someone flips the switch for the disco ball.

Dylan tilts his head, slides his tongue across the grainy salt and imagines that when his mouth waters he can taste Zach under the sharpness of the salt. The thought makes him groan a little, pressing a bite against the tight, tanned skin, the light sheen of sweat making it seem like Zach's glowing in the crowded room. Zach's nipples tighten as he hands Dylan the shot and pops the lime between his teeth. 

Dylan's mouth floods with the sting of the tequila. Zach's grinning around the lime wedge and people are probably still shouting but Dylan’s world has sharpened so that he can barely hear it anymore. Dylan stretches into his toes to take the lime, biting into the flesh and pressing his thumb against the faint outline of teeth he left on Zach. 

Zach slides his hands up and under the loose hem of Dylan’s shirt, nose sliding against the thin skin of Dylan’s neck. Dylan drops the lime on the floor and slides their lips together, hands resting on Zach’s shoulders. 

Zach slips him a little tongue before pulling back to smile, “body shots huh.”

“They said it was the rules,” Dylan’s pretty drunk really, his head swimming with tequila and beer and Zach. His feet going easily when Zach pushes him until they’re in the cool, quiet, darkness of the laundry room. Zach kicks the door shut and tilts Dylan's chin up to press their mouths together and do his level best to lick any taste of tequila out of his mouth. Dylan pulls away for a second because this is important. “I didn’t want to lick anyone else.”

“Good,” Zach frowns comically, “I’m the only one you should be licking.”

“Couldn't decide where I wanted it," Dylan confesses, tucking his face into Zach's neck and running his tongue along the salt sweaty skin of his collarbone. “Kinda want to lick you all over.”

Zach grins, pressing his fingers against Dylan’s skin and slotting their legs together. He opens his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by Niko bursting in the door. Dylan takes one drunken second to be thankful they still have their pants on. And also to be sad they still have their pants on.

“Hi dudes,” Niko grins, leaning against the doorframe, beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers. “Whatcha doing??”

Dylan bangs his head against Zach’s shoulder twice before looking up. Through the door the party has somehow managed to carry on without them, the tequila bottle abandoned on corner of the ping pong table in favor of a competitive game of flip cup.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Zach nips at Dylan’s ear for a second and winks when a shiver slides up his spine. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just laces their fingers together and drags Dylan through the crowd, nobody pays attention when he snags the tequila bottle as he brushes past. "We’ll go upstairs and see how far we get before the tequila runs out.”


End file.
